Drain
by Tiny Octopus
Summary: Even after the Player has finished the game, it continues to haunt her. Also on AO3.
1. Halo

A memory.

He is tall with his back to the sun, casting the shadow of zealotry over my face, but he looks at me with reverence, kneeling to take my hands and press them to his face. It's smooth and cold like a cemetery monument in the winter. "I'm yours," he says, his voice so much more human than I expected, "Your will is my action."

The sun is in my eyes again. "Don't do that," I tell him, pulling my hands free from his, "Stand up, Batter. You're stronger than me."

"But you're the puppeteer," he says fondly, nothing but a child's unconditional love in his eyes.

It's a memory I think of often in the barely-lit hours of the morning when my bed is cold and empty and I think of him, miss him, and call him a liar.


	2. Just Like Them

I dream of the Burnt and their frantic wheezing as they touch gentle fingers to their face and find sludge pouring from every orifice, the poor children of the zones who breathe in smoke every day and then suddenly breathe it out, too. I dream of the Elsen who wouldn't stop screaming "HELP," even as muck choked his throat and clogged his nose and filled his eyes, even as the Batter set out to purify and each swing of his bat drew out a pained groan.

I dream of becoming that way, going out like a dark phoenix in a fireless plume of smoke and ashes, crying tar and staring up into the four unfeeling eyes of the Batter saying, "Help, help," feeling him pin me down and reach for his bat but slowly, like his joints are aching, like it hurts him as much as it hurts me, and he kisses my forehead as though forgiving my sins.

And then he swings.


	3. Guilt By Association

It is Zacharie who first finds me in the night, appearing on a foggy road in my subconscious. He looks out of place even in a dream, stark white and black, casting no shadow, his mask leering out of the dark. I know he's come to bring me back. "Go away," I tell him and turn around, but he is there again, a few feet closer this time. "Leave me alone."

He says nothing, but he watches me, and I imagine things like rage or pity in the unreadable mask.

"Please go," I say, "You told me it was just a game. You told me I could quit whenever I wanted."

I think he might be trying to speak, but I can't hear any words over the sound of my alarm going off, first in the distance, then coming closer until I'm lying awake in bed early in the morning. I see the dim glow of the computer monitor out of the corner of my eyes, and though I know I turned it off, I'm not surprised. I roll over, hit the snooze on my alarm, and go back to sleep.


	4. Necessity

Another memory.

The first time I see Dedan outside of the barns and metal production factories in zone 1, I am afraid, paralzyed at the sight of the towering creature. We hear him outside, hissing insults to one of the workers, and I pull on the back of the Batter's jersey to stop him, eyes on the ground. At the beginning of his-mine? Our?-mission, I am embarrassed to show weakness. I want to live up to his unreasonable ideals, become perfection, a god, guiding the hand of the purifier who relies on me.

To my surprise, the Batter kneels to meet my eyes and promises that he will protect me because he needs me. It's an oath, and I believe him.

I believed in him.

I believed him.

I should have known better.


	5. Thinking

I hear water at night.

Churning, sloshing inside the walls of my head for hours at a time, a lullaby of waves locked inside me. It reminds me of things, of gold islands and fifth elements. Again and again, dripping from a faucet at the top of my skull and landing in the basin at my throat. I feel like her hand is there, stirring the waters with a carefree smile. Her hand is in my head stirring the waters.

_"Think of something beautiful."_

But I'm not afraid of her. She's the one I regret killing the most.


	6. Full of Fear

Sometimes, I do nothing but apologize.

Those are colorless dreams where I am surrounded by their shapes and faces.

"I'm sorry."

They gather in a crowd around me and watch with their empty eyes or the places where their eyes would be. They say nothing, but they demand I right my wrongs and take responsibility, and I do it because I'm afraid.

"I'm sorry."

The burnt all stand together a few feet away, darkness billowing from the collars of their shirts and clouding the air. They keep their distance, but they do not cower from me. They know I'm nothing without him. "I'm sorry," I tell them, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry." There is no response.

The nightmarish guardian of zone one stands to my left, claws balled into fists at his sides and I stare at his shoes. "I'm sorry," I say, "I'm sorry." I can't stop my shoulders and knees from shaking, feeling the anger in his gaze.

The millenial fire bird is crouched to my right, neck crooked and wings sticky with a splash of color. "I'm sorry," I say, quietly. He looks at me with disappointment.

The giant stands somewhere behind me, his shadow cast over us all, and I can't bring myself to turn around. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry." I feel his eyes downcast with pity on my back.

Before me stands the Queen carrying her Father wrapped in a shroud. I apologize, again and again. I get to my knees and I bow my head and apologize. "I'm sorry," I whisper, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

I feel her hand, smooth and cold, come to rest on my head. "If you are truly sorry," she says, somewhere between a hiss and a sigh, "Then please..."

"I'm sorry," I whimper, "I'm sorry."

She reaches lower, hooking her fingers below my chin and lifting my head until I'm looking at her. I never remember seeing a face behind her white hair, but I'd never looked for one before. "Finish what you have begun," she says. She is pleading. It is the first and the last request she has asked of me. I know I owe it to her-and to them, to all of them.

"I'm sorry," I tell her, holding her gaze, white eyes begging the mercy that she knows I have in me despite never having seen it before. "I'm...I'm sorry."

I wake carrying the burden of her final wish and the hurt in her eyes when she saw right through me. I've failed her once before. She knows I'll only fail her again.


	7. Transcendence

Unwanted memories.

The Queen is dead.

The Batter stands over her, panting, standing in her blood as her body shrivels up like a dried squid and fizzles away in a bright light. This isn't what I wanted. Through my blurry, tear-filled vision, I see the monster for the first time, maw gaping and dripping blood and saliva. "Player," he said, glancing pointedly at Omega, who is dark and still, an unresponsive ring on the floor. I haven't even noticed, too distracted by the Batter beating his wife to death. He calls to me again and I back away.

"No," I whisper. He turns on me and the monster flashes in my mind, jaws open wide, eyes nothing but glowing, white sockets in its head. I retreat further and the Batter returns, his eyes, all four, open in confusion. He abandons his bat and approaches but I still scream, still twist away from his reaching hands until my back hits a wall, because I know the monster inside him could break me with his bare hands if he wanted to. "Don't," I beg, and he respects my wish for space.

"I need you," he says, "Now more than ever."

"Liar." He goes back to where he killed the Queen to retrieve his bat and the fallen Omega. "You never needed me." I leave him there in that great, gray hall, but not for long. We have something to see through together, after all. Even if I am not needed as a guide, I am needed as a spectator. The play loses meaning without an audience.


	8. Acceptance

Memories and dreams blend into one and I dream of zone 2's library where Zacharie leans over the edge and stares out into the gray, smoky sky and tells me that it's just a game. "It's easy to forget, though, isn't it?" he asks over his shoulder, the mask slowly turning to face me, "What with everything you've done."

There is no blood on my hands, but smoke and ash and soot have stained me so thoroughly that I doubt I will ever be clean again.

"You know, you can quit," the merchant says casually, turning his body to lean his back against the railing, "Whenever you want. You could quit right now, even. You could leave and never come back."

I feel like he's baiting me, but I still have to ask, "Is it really that easy?"

The grin he wears beneath his mask is obvious in his voice. "Of course it's not easy," he says, "But it can be done."

"Would you resent me for it?"

At my side, the Batter is silent and staring down at me. I don't look to see what expression he has, eyes fixed on Zacharie instead.

He is slow to answer. "You would be missed," he says, "But there would be no hard feelings."

I wake in the middle of the night, only able to think, "Liar, you _liar_," and the world around me is melting, the walls dripping and pooling onto the floor in puddles of neon color leaving a void behind. When I blink and rub my eyes, everything is fine, but the computer monitor is on. I just look for a moment, and then I slowly get out of bed.

"I'm ready," I say to no one.

I close my eyes and I go to finish what I never should have begun.


	9. Journey

I'm don't fall, but I land on my feet.

I remember this place.

A small platform in a pool of liquid plastic, monochrome and sterile. I see the Batter's shoes beside my own but I hesitate, struggle, to look up and meet his eyes. Ahead is the long staircase to the sky, where the woman of his dreams waits. I've already done this; do I have to do it again?

"Player," the Batter says, and that voice is exactly how I remember it. Low, certain, too human. Or not human enough? I still don't look at him. "Player," he says again, and turns his body slightly. My hands are shaking at my sides.

"Why am I here again?"

"You chose to come back."

_Liar_. "Why am I _here_?" I ask, "In this place? We did this. We already..."

"No." The Batter stands close, close enough to touch, and one hand lingers just over my shoulder, wanting to touch, afraid to touch, eager and reluctant. It's been so long since I have felt those hands. "We have to do it again."

"Why?" I say, then louder, "Why? _Why_?! Why do we have to do it at all? Why do we have to do any of this, why...why..." My shoulders tremble with tears that are about to come. The Batter is silent for a moment.

"Because you quit at the end," comes a third voice, neither mine nor the Batter's, but that of the merchant who stands forgotten to the left of the doorway. "There's nowhere to save between the Queen and the ending." His eyes leer through the mask, or maybe it's just the mask itself leering. "Will you see it through to the end this time?"

"How can this be just a game?" I whisper, and finally meet the Batter's eyes.

He has no answers for me, because it is not just a game to him.

"Player," he says, pleading, and takes a small step towards the doorway.

Zacharie watches us both. There is something like amusement and pity and disgust and fondness in his eyes, all mixed together, all inseparable.

The Batter reaches forward then and closes his hand around my wrist, and his touch is cold and wonderful and brings tears to my eyes. "Let's go," he urges, and with a whimper, I let him lead me this time.


	10. Tears

I climb the Queen's staircase one step at a time, leaving behind black and white corridors for what lies beyond the sky. She stands with her back to oblivion facing certain death.

"You are finally here, Batter."

How long has she waited for him, and for me? How long has she been whispering into my ear in my dreams, begging me to return, to end it, to _come back, please, let me die, you coward?_

"Why have you destroyed the nation that I rebuilt?" She speaks to him, though she looks to me this time. "I truly wish for my children to be happy."

The Queen of Nothing calls us to her with empty threats in hollow whispers and the Batter steps forward. "Player," he urges when I stand numb, and I bring myself to become the puppeteer once again.

She tries, she fights the futile battle again, she utters poisonous words even as the Batter destroys her, even as she is driven to her knees and unable to stand. But she weeps. She weeps silently, tears condensing on her featureless face like water on a glass and rolling down her cheeks, shattering like glass when they hit the ground and sounding like bells ringing in an empty room. "There is nothing but the void after me," she says, and she sounds relieved, like that's for the best, _thank you, Player,_ beneath the words.

"Do you want some coffee," she rasps when it is over, and this time she melts like icicles, like she is crying with her entire body until she is nothing more than a formless puddle that sinks into the ground whispering, "My love?"

The Batter says it is time to forget, time to dream sweet dreams, and when I look at him, bat still clenched in one hand, eyes turned down where the Queen once was, he, too, is crying.

Neither of them mention his eyes this time because he is unafraid.


	11. Purpose

And here it is, the last stage before curtain call, the beginning and the end, the innocent and the guilty, the child, the child god, the red room's sole resident, the loved and the neglected. His eyes are large and dead, dead for so long now, and I flinch away from his gaze. The Batter comes between us.

"I'm here."

The child coughs.

Nobody moves.

"Player," the Batter reminds me, and I am so tired, _so tired_ of hearing him call to me. "Player."

"What happens if I leave?" I ask. "You said you need me, just to be a witness. Why is that? Do you cease to exist when I'm not here?"

Nobody answers.

"What happens if this game is never finished?" I press on, "What then? Does everything just freeze where it is? Do you wait in suspended animation for someone to come back?"

"Player," the Batter says impatiently.

"What happens if no one ever plays this game? What if I never came, what if no one ever came? What if it was just you, just you and this world that's falling apart?"

I look down at the child and he looks up at me. "You would have played," he says at last, "You were always going to play."

Everything blurs into red.

Here it is.

The last stage.

Beginning and end.

"Do it," I tell the Batter.

I fulfill my purpose.


	12. The End

The only thing standing between me and the OFF switch is the Batter and the Judge, their attention solely on me, waiting for a word.

"Have any regrets, dear Player?" the words slip easily from the Judge's mouth.

I count the twitches of his whiskers and retreat a step from them both, the Judge and the monster, the cat and the Batter, two puppets on a massive board game from which I desperately want to escape once and for all.

"Because this is your handiwork as well," he says, voice devolving into an angry hiss, "You had a hand in this tragedy." The Batter stares wordlessly, and I see monstrous jaws and blank, white eyes between my lashes but I hold onto his familiar face and will the image away. "But this situation can still be salvaged. You can still make things right."

They are both dissatisfied by my silence, but it is the Batter who comes forward and cups his hands around my face like he has so many times. "Player?"

"Where did we go wrong?" I ask, but he only shakes his head. We did not go wrong, he tells me with that gesture, not even once. Not in any of the zones, not in any of the death, not in the reuniting of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, only for it all to melt away into the futile effort it had really been from the beginning. "I believed," I say, holding onto his jersey, breathing him, "I believed in you."

Having a choice in the ending is a cruel joke, whether I decide to set free the empty world or end it. There's no other way for the world to end but in monochrome, in melancholy, in perpetual emptiness.

"It's not over," he says, looking pointedly towards the switch. "Player," he says again, letting go of me, and I fall with nothing to hold onto.

"I can't," I choke, "I can't do it. I can't choose." This is not the ending I wanted.

The ominous silence in the house of the child god tells me I must.

I have played to completion, and now I must see the game through to the end.

I think of the Queen, and her last wish.

"I just want it to be over," I say.

The Judge is disappointed. He is the only one who hasn't given up on this world, the only who can see past the supposed corruption, the only one who will fight for it now. He is the only one who can fight for it now.

"A shame," he murmurs.

It is a shame, I agree with him. I can't watch.

Nothing at all remains; even the red that stains the Batter fades away. There is only the two of us in an empty world, and the Batter is beginning to distort. I look to him-the monster overlaying the savior, both occupying the same space and speaking at the same time, calling me-and I go to him.

The Batter is thankful. His arms wrap around me in gratitude. "It's over," I tell him, "It's over."

He breathes smoke with his last sigh. It hisses from his mouth, falls, fades into white, vanishes as all things do here. My tears disappear before they touch the ground.

"I never want to see you again. Not ever."

He lets go. We approach the switch together and place our hands over top of one another, waiting, holding our breath. What comes next? We know already.

The monster has always been inside of my eyes. I look up at him and I see the Batter, just the Batter. There are many words not spoken, explanations never asked for, answers taken for granted. Words left behind.

"It's over," I say again, reassuring myself. The Batter squeezes my hand.

There is a resounding _click_ in the darkness, and then, nothing, forever.

* * *

><p><strong>And finally, here we are at the end.<strong>

**This was my first foray into this fandom and my first uploaded fanfiction, so it's kind of cool to have seen it through to the end.**

**I know the ending lacks closure; I hope it captures how some of those who played this ending felt.**


End file.
